Pen Pictures
by Soo W
Summary: What were the events leading to Liam's death and Angel's birth? Eight people who had a hand in what happened that night in 1753 tell their story.
1. Chapter 1 - The Thief

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**Usual disclaimers apply: I'm just a fan, writing for fun, no copyright infringement intended, no profit in the making.**

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I arrived in Galway on the 15th, and instantly knew this was a good place. The merchant's warehouses bustle, the rich swank up and down the main street with their self-satisfied wives and lovely daughters in tow, and the taverns are full of men with money to spend.

It shouldn't be too hard to find a steady source of income here, now, should it?

I think I've already found a likely place to start. I sat in one of the worst taverns yesterday night and a young man came in. He was well-to-do, taking him from his clothes, but he drank like a sailor on shore leave. Soon enough, he starts a fight with one of the jokers at the bar, and I sidle up to him part way through and help him throw the loser out into the street. We're now good friends, yet we haven't spoke a word. That's how it works in places like this.

I introduce myself. Well, you understand, I introduce one of myselves. 

I tell him I'm looking for work locally and he asks me what I can do. I can see his family is probably in business - he's well-off but not rich enough to be a land owner, and there's something about the way he talks that makes me think he works for a living. I say I've done all sorts of jobs and run through a list until I come to warehouse hand, when he slaps my back and promises to ask his Father if there's a vacancy in the family business. A merchant, then. 

It's as easy as pie. Within fifteen minutes I know all there is to know about Liam and his family and I'm well on the way to a written list of the household valuables.

Later he becomes maudlin, telling me in drunken sobs that his Father doesn't value him as he should; that he's in love with a woman he won't be allowed to marry; that the world conspires to stop him being happy.

I've heard it a thousand times before, and as I look at my own shabbiness and his obvious comfort, my sympathy is strained and half-hearted. But he's too drunk to notice that, and finally falls asleep at the table. The barmaid, a nice looking girl by the name of Molly, is obviously used to him, and as the tavern empties she cleans around him. Eventually, I go too, but I watch from the outside as she douses the lamps and leaves him to sleep it off where he sits.

I resolve to return the following night and renew our acquaintance. I'm expecting it to be a profitable one, all things considered.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Servant

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I never thought to find myself in this position. When he finds out the Master will say I'm like all the others, but I beg you to believe I'm not. I try to be good and have not sinned, not yet, and never will, not matter how much he urges me.

It begins when he catches me playfully in the garden. I've noticed how he looks at me and know what they say about him in the town. My friend Molly works the tavern on the waterfront, and can tell tall tales of the fights he is in and the women who keep him company. Nevertheless, I allow him to hurry me along a few steps and hide us behind a tree. It does not do to be too sharp with the eldest son in the household. They can make more trouble for you than the master, if they've a mind.

He fixes me with his dark eyes and whispers to me, "Can I kiss you?" and my cheeks burn. I shake my head and he lifts my hands to his mouth.

Just as I think he's going to kiss the back of my hand as a gentleman would, he turns one hand over and presses his lips into the palm. I won't allow him to kiss me properly and I get away, and hope he'll have moved on to some other wench by the next time we're alone together. 

But he doesn't. He constantly finds excuses to come and see me, and even when I refuse to let him touch me he doesn't go away. He sits beside me as I scrub, polish or sew, and just talks. I'm puzzled at first, and then sorry for him, and then one day, I hardly know how, I want to kiss him as badly as he wants to kiss me, maybe worse. 

So we kiss, and whatever scruples I had are suddenly gone. He brings the heat out of me like I never felt before. He wants to go on, he says he must have me, I must let him, but I tell him firmly I won't, I can't. I've nowhere else to go and no other work to do; if the Master found out, if there were consequences... 

I expect him to be angry, but he's merely sad for a moment. Then he crushes me to him again and fills my ear with sweet words. How he loves me and would never harm me or disgrace me. He promises, though I know my place and would never ask, to speak to his Father.

Now, every time we meet he begs me for favours and I don't know how to refuse him, he is so gentle. First I must allow him to unlace me (not to touch, just to look), then I must consent to a hand at my bosom, then he asks me pleadingly to sit on his lap, then I'm to relieve him by pressing here and there with my fingers. Lately he asks to touch my skin, my neck, my bare arms, my ankles, legs, thighs. And so eventually I nod, mutely, and he slips a hand beneath my skirt and strokes me until my breath comes short and I start to shake against him. But he does no more than what I agree to, and never pushes his claims. I know that whatever happens he loved me, more than anyone ever has before. 

When he takes his hand away, I can see it glistening from where he has touched me, and at once I am ashamed of my conduct. But he says, no, it is just proof that I love him as he loves me and one day we will be able to enjoy each other to the full. I turn away miserably, and he says he will speak to his Father, soon.

Every time he says it, I believe him a little less, and need to believe him a little more.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Mother

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My dear boy looks more troubled by the day and I wish I knew how to help him. Since the terrible row with his father I feel in my heart they are divided forever, and our home is bereft of any comfort or harmony in consequence.

My husband spends more and more time in his counting house. Liam assumes his father's purpose is to go back over the work he did, checking the receipts and the figures. I know this is not true, and that my husband is suffering because he did not give his son a chance to explain, but rather too readily condemned him when the mistakes came to light.

The ledger, the sum of money in hand and the quantity of stock in the warehouse did not tally at Lady Day. There were substantial differences. I've never seen my husband so angry. To begin with, he accused the clerk of taking money without making a record. But eventually, the discrepancy was traced to mistakes in the acquisition of stock, something which Liam had been doing for the previous four weeks. 

So now my husband must climb down and apologise, and point the finger at his own son. But as he knew, and everyone knew, anyone with access to the warehouse could have taken the stock after it had been checked. There was no way of knowing that Liam did anything dishonest.

News of any scandal travels fast in this town, and I can hardly hold my head up when walking out. And, the liberties people take when one is under a cloud! Why, only last week when I walked to the milliner, that jade from the tavern (I think she goes by the name of Molly) approached me and tried to bring up the subject. You can imagine, I am sure, how I cut her short and walked on.

It cuts Liam deeply to know that his father doesn't trust him. He has stopped going into the warehouse at all, and when his father sees him in the garden or sitting in the house, he is reminded of how unjust he has been. Then he takes it out on the lad, accusing him of being no good and lazy, when it is hardly his fault this time.

Although I do not blame him for it, I am worried in my mind that this idleness will lead to some new misfortune. Liam should be active, he has a nature which is well suited to hard work and a brain capable of great application. Now he sits, with no aim or purpose, and I fear the devil will find work for his idle hands.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Vampire

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When I arrive I choose a ramshackle tavern near the boat as a likely source of food. That's where I first notice him. His face is flushed with liquor, he is brawling and his clothing is dishevelled, but he still manages to look like a peacock who has strutted in amongst the chickens.

He is magnificent.

I say so to the young woman who serves me my unwanted drink, and she gives me her grudging agreement. She describes him as "God's gift" and I make some slight remark in return. At that moment the youth wins the fight and turns, his arms spread wide, as if inviting the congratulations of the assembled company. Mostly, the drunkards and slatterns who drown their sorrows here ignore him. Well, why should they appreciate true beauty, when their lives have been so empty of it?

The barmaid (who I find is called Molly when some of the men pathetically try to entice her over to sit with them) goes on to say "Oh, his lies sound pretty when the stars are out. But he forgets every promise he's made when the sun comes up again."

Perfect.

I take a moment to savour the feathered tickle of anticipation that spreads over my famished skin. I will arrange a meeting. I will strike up a conversation with him, and if his talk is as appealing as his person... Well, maybe I will have found him at last. Someone worthy. At the very least, I will eat something pretty.

My eyes take in his broad shoulders, slender waist, shock of brown hair and the proportions of his face, as beautiful as if a sculptor had chiselled them and they had later come to life through some bewitchment. Soon, soon, I will make his flesh as cold as marble, and as pale, and it will be for me to decide whether it is animated again, or left for the worms. As I gaze, his eyes meet mine and a flash of recognition flies between us. I whisper the words "darling boy, come to me" and prepare to rise and leave, knowing he will follow.

Then, a man comes up and slaps him on the shoulder. He turns away from me and greets him like a brother. There is another round of drinks, and then another. I seize Molly by the hand as she passes and ask who it is that takes so much of my prize's attention. 

She shrugs and tells me it is some thug who has befriended him. They've been inseparable for over a month. It would not surprise her if he were a robber, and the next day, or the next, we were to find Liam dead in the streets after the ruffian has felt the weight of his purse and killed him for the contents. For a moment, her hard little face looks concerned, and I wonder if they have been lovers in the past and she still carries a torch for him.

I keep my own counsel and plan. No, Molly, it will not be a surprise to find him dead; but it won't be tonight, nor in the manner you suggest. 


	5. Chapter 5 - The Father

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I did not go to the warehouse this morning, as I wished to discuss this sad business of the inventory with Liam. My wife is right, we are in many ways too similar to make an easy partnership. I have not been fair to him, and he has reason enough to be cool with me. Besides, I had a visit yesterday from a young woman called Molly. When I found she worked at that place, I almost refused to see her, but she begged so fervently for a short audience with me, that I relented.

I was still thinking how to act on what she had to say, but at least I was sure of one thing, I had to put this matter right with Liam, for his own sake as much as mine. If it is true and he has unwittingly fallen into bad company (or perhaps I should say, worse) then he may be owed an apology as well as greater understanding.

I came into my study ten minutes ago and paused to adjust the curtains. The girl had left them drawn again, the fabric spoiling in the sun, and I thought to myself, not for the first time, that she is getting careless and slovenly in her work. Little did I know how she was being distracted. 

Looking out of the window, I saw Liam standing in the shadow of the porch. His clothing was disarranged, as if he had thrown it on in a hurry, or just arrived home from another night spent drinking in that iniquitous tavern. His shirt hung loose and he wore an unbuttoned waistcoat. His coat was nowhere to be seen. He came to the edge of the garden and waited. 

Curious, I paused for a moment and watched. Anna came into view. She carried a bucket and must have been going to fetch some water for her mistress. My heart sank as I watched Liam as his eyes followed her. I didn't need to hear him speak too know what was happening between them. He tried to coax her over, but she refused, and said she was busy and he would have to come to her. She smiled at him over her shoulder as she walked away, and I had to rush out to stop him following her and indulging in who knows what debauchery within sight of his own father's home.

Bitter words passed between us. He accused me later of striking him, which I don't recall. But I remember at the end Anna came back carrying the full pail and his eyes were drawn to her. I lost my temper. I screamed that I would not allow it, and that I would send him abroad before I would see him with a girl of that kind. To make sure no-one was unaware of my opinion, I named the kind. 

I can see her pale face now, as she turns away from my anger, and towards Liam for comfort or support. I step between them and tell her to go quickly to her room. Then I turn to Liam and tell him to go back inside and dress properly. He looks for a moment as if he'll defy me and I have to take a step towards him before he backs away.

Deep down, I know he's a good-natured lad at heart. If I were thinking rationally, I would acknowledge that Anna is not a whore, that these things have happened before amongst young people in other households just as god-fearing as ours. I would admit that leaving him idle at home for these long summer weeks was not sensible and I am partly to blame. But my heart aches with too much trouble, too much grief, and Liam, my son, who seems to have nothing but unrestrained appetites where morals should be, seems to be the root of it all. In my present mood, I can give neither of them the credit they are due.

I tell Anna she must leave the house immediately. I give her some money, and tell her to take what belongings she can carry. If there is anything else (I am doubtful whether this could be so) she can let me know a forwarding address and I will send it on at a more convenient time.

She is crying, but she doesn't argue with me. I wait as she gathers a few things together and follow her out of the front door. I watch until she is out of sight.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Sister

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I could tell something bad was happening when Father came into the parlour and stood in front of the fire. He always does that, stands in front of the fire and grips the mantelpiece, when there's something wrong.

Then Liam comes in and I can tell they've had another fight. They don't think I know, but they shout at each other so hard sometimes I can hear them wherever I am, even if I'm in bed. Sometimes Mother comes into my room and lies next to me on my bed and we fall asleep together while they rant and rage at each other. Things have been especially bad in the past few weeks, not because of the shouting, but because they haven't spoken to each other at all, and that seems worse after a while. I know it's because Liam miscounted some things at the warehouse and so Father's figures didn't add up as they should. 

They think I don't know anything that goes on but I do, I know all about it; I can't avoid knowing.

Liam comes in and stands looking at father, not saying anything just staring. I'm frightened and I pick up my book and sit in the cubby-hole to the left of the fire, out of their way. I curl up and tuck my legs beneath me, and wait for it to start.

Liam begins by asking my Father where Anna has gone. He says her room is empty.

Father doesn't reply, just studies the flames a bit longer and eventually Liam grabs his shoulder. He raises his hand to Liam but Liam doesn't run, doesn't even flinch, and my Father drops his hand to his side and tells him that Anna is gone for good.

I didn't know that. 

I close my book and look at Liam. He liked Anna. I know all about that. He used to make me take flowers to her when she was on her own, dusting the best room or cleaning the grate. She always refused to take them and I would return them to my brother, who would have them back with a funny smile and tuck them into his coat. Now his face is as white as a sheet and he says nothing as my Father turns and leaves the room without another word.

Then he comes to me and kneels in front of my seat. I smile at him and run my fingers through his hair. He takes my hand and kisses it as he always does, like I was a great lady and he a prince. Then he buries his head in the folds of my skirt and after a moment I realise he's crying. I've never seen him cry since... I don't know when, since I was just a baby; I didn't know he was so unhappy. I don't know what to do, and then I start crying too, just to keep him company. 

After a while he looks up. His face is almost dry (why don't people cry properly when they grow up?) while mine must be all wet because he fishes out his handkerchief and gives it to me. Then he asks if I will help him and after I finish sniffing I say, of course, yes, I will. He wants me to take a message to Anna, there's no time to write it down so I must promise to remember. I look at him scornfully, as if I ever forgot a message in my life! And the message is short.

"Wait for me."

"Tell it to Anna and no-one else," he urges, "She'll be at the tavern on the waterfront. She'll be with Molly. You remember Molly?"

I say, yes, of course I do. I used to take messages to her all the time.

"Be careful, and don't speak to anyone else."

I ask, not even Molly?

"Yes," he concedes, "You can speak to Molly. But no-one else - if anyone else tries to speak to you down there, you must run home. All the way. And don't tell Mother or Father where you're going."

I promise, and slip out of the house, through the garden, and into the road.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Barmaid

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Of course, I know Liam. He's a regular drinker here. Then there's his sweet sister, a lovely girl. And I know of the rest of the family by sight, although Liam's father would never be seen in a place like this, you mark my words. 

There was a stupid, childish thing between us for a while, but, until I got friendly with Anna, I hadn't thought about him in that way for a long while. It was obvious from her talk she was getting sweet on him, so I tried to help her out by telling her about the drinking and the low women he takes out into the street each night. 

But for all the difference I made to that dewy look in her eyes, I might as well have been reading the order of hymns. She looked troubled for a moment, and I was sorry to upset her, but by the next time I see her they've reached an understanding, so I assume he's made some fine excuses. Myself, I have seen too much of his behaviour to be taken in, and I worry about her.

She tells me what's been happening at the warehouse. I'm not surprised it's come to this, what else can be expected, given the company he keeps? For old time's sake and for Anna's, I let the father know what I've heard about Liam's "friend". 

Neither is it any surprise when she turns up outside the tavern. I go out to her. She says the father has let her go, and she has nowhere to stay. I take her in; it's morning and the bar is empty. She tells me what happened and I curse her mildly for her stupidity before she crumples in front of me and ends up crying on my shoulder. I ask her a few hard questions, and she looks shocked at me, but how was I to know how things really were between them? And for certain, if she's having a child it'll make life a lot more difficult. At least with no bairns she'll be able to find work elsewhere.

The thing is, the sister has already been. She must have run all the way and cut through the fields, to have missed Anna. I told her that Anna was not with me, but that if she'd give me the message from her brother, I'd pass it on. Now Anna's here, and he's probably on his way. The message is nowhere but in my head, and there are some difficult decisions to make.

I tell Anna that my aunt will give her a room, if she says Molly sent her, but she's in the next village and Anna will have to walk. She'll have to go now, to reach there by nightfall.

I tell her too about the fancy lady who's taken an interest in her Liam. She's been in a few times, asking questions, praising his figure and his prowess. I describe her dress, her manner of speaking, the money she has in her dainty purse.

I even tell her about Liam and me, and make it sound like more than it was for her benefit. I tell her whatever I think she needs to hear, whatever I can to make her go, and go she does, at about midday, still crying, but kissing me and thanking me for my kindness. 

Then, in the early evening, he arrives. He's looking for her, and I tell him she's gone. A puzzled look crosses his face, and I tell him that she got his message, but decided not to wait. Then I have to go back to my work in a hurry because I can't take the look on his face.

I don't tell her that he's never been with the women in the bar since she arrived. 

I don't tell him how many lies I had to tell to get her to go.

I tell myself I'm doing the right thing.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Victim

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When I hear the news it's as if someone has punched me. No, worse than that, because I seem to be able to take a fair amount of punching without noticing, but this takes my breath away. I sit down and Molly walks off. After a while she brings some ale and I drink it without thinking.

Conflicting sentiments. This can't be happening. How could she? It's my fault, I should have... Where do I go now? The last is the question that lingers. The others are readily answered: it's happened, she's gone; she had every reason to doubt me; as usual, I did too little and acted too late.

As is my habit, I imagine what would have happened if life had gone my way. I conjure a small room in a boarding house, in a city somewhere. Maybe Dublin, or even London. She rises from our bed in the morning to make tea, and I pull her back under the covers, make her attend to me first, because she's mine and we're free to do as we please; there's no-one to mind us; the encumbrances and divisions of our present situation are gone. Or maybe she does make the tea and brings it back to bed, and we talk while drinking it, and gradually the gap between us lessens and disappears; we kiss each other over the teacups and toast and remains of eggs; we stay in bed half the day because it's Sunday and we can. We never go to church in the morning, my collars are never starched, she loves me and I have some easy, menial employment that pays our bills and lets us have as many children as we want, and... 

I'm frozen by a vision of Anna, with child, swollen, sensual, virtually incapacitated and depending on me, when another tankard arrives under my nose and I have to smile at myself. For all of my skills at idealising happiness, the real thing always eludes me. I can fancy how sweet it must be to know a woman like that, and yet, all my experience is of a different kind of love. Harsher, more desperate, and ultimately, unsatisfying. 

I'm in no mood for company. So, of course, company arrives. I tell him I'm leaving town tonight. We drink, as we have for many nights past, until the room spins. My friend, who can usually take his ale pretty well, seems to let his guard down, and ends up drunker than me for once. I idly notice that the elegant lady in cream brocade is back, and it adds an aptly surreal quality to the evening. God only knows what she's doing in a place like this.

The room spins, and I drink a little more, thinking, if I can make it spin enough I'll forget why I'm here and not somewhere else, with Anna. We should be sheltering in some barn by now, already reconciled and making love against the chill of the night.

Eventually we're thrown out, not for being drunk but because we're both broke. We walk into the night, me and my friend who is looking groggy and shuffling his feet. I make a crack about the family silver, but even though it's the best joke I can muster and a decent effort for someone who's just had his insides ripped out, it's wasted on him. I look around and he's lying face down in the straw, as if drugged. I callously leave him to his fate. Well, I'm sure he'd do the same for me.

The cool air of the night revives me slightly, and as I look around, I catch a glimpse of alabaster in an alleyway to my left. The lady from the tavern. With a look, she invites me to follow her.

If I can't have Anna...

Suddenly the question I've been pondering on and off all evening comes back to mock me. Where do I go now? The answer comes back in bold colours. I've lost my family, my home, my fortune, my hope of happiness. The only way to go from here is some place better. Bitterness rises in my throat like bile, and I turn into the alleyway, determined that if I can't have what I want, to get what I can.

To take what comes.

THE END


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